


The Impulse of Reasoning Animals

by azrielen



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: All consent involving Jefferson is dubious, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, But he owns it, F/M, Face-Fucking, Female Ejaculation, Gratuitous French, Hair-pulling, Hamilton is an entire slut, Hamilton’s mouth, Historical Inaccuracy, Irredeemable Filth, Is there a word for being choked by a cock?, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premarital Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, So much hair-pulling, There should be a word for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azrielen/pseuds/azrielen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander has always been good with his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impulse of Reasoning Animals

Alexander Hamilton isn’t good at being underestimated.

For someone who knows he’s smart, who knows he’s a fine tactician and is painfully aware that he thinks five steps ahead at all times, he has never been able to grasp the idea that being underestimated might be an advantage. Maybe it’s his damnable pride, but right now that’s all he has. Every time someone looks at him with surprise and makes a funny little noise like _I never would have expected that_ it sets a fire in his blood and he ends up doing something rash.

Something like pushing his best friend down onto a cot in some abandoned tent and swallowing his cock just to prove a point.

“Alexander, oh...oh _fuck_!” John Laurens pants, thin chest heaving. Alexander can feel his every rib expanding under his palms as he rakes his nails down them. Laurens bites off a shout and Alexander redoubles his efforts. They have to be quick or risk discovery, and the danger spurs them both higher. Bitter salt fills the back of this throat, and he moans for it, pulls back to lick the taste straight from the sensitive slit. The reckless press of his teeth shreds whatever is left of Laurens’ control and he grips without finesse at Alexander’s hair, his neck, the rumpled shoulder of his uniform jacket, the thin padding under him. Alexander has to move his hands from Laurens’ sides to his hips and press hard against the rise of his hipbones to hold him down. 

Outside, a cheer goes up from the campfires, soldiers reveling in a small victory that had brought them much-needed supplies, and Alexander sucks hard, drawing the entire length of Laurens’ cock in all at once and swallowing around it. Laurens comes with a shout, the sound lost amidst the fervor of the revolution.

\-----

“Where did you learn how to do this, _mon ami_?” Lafayette groans, half-muffled by the pillow. “ _Oui, oui….votre bouche est...la chose la plus exquise…._ ”

They are laid out on a fine bed, soft mattress and clean linens courtesy of a wealthy friend to their cause. The man had gratefully opened his land to their encampment and his home to General Washington’s top men after a recent victory had rescued his logging operation from British control. Clean and well-fed for the first time in weeks, they are all in high spirits, and Alexander had not been able to deny himself when he’d returned to the bedroom reserved for the two aides-de-camp to find Lafeyette still naked and dripping from his bath.

Lafayette squirms under him and Alexander pushes his legs wider apart, taking away his leverage and baring even more skin to his tongue. There is no other way to put it but that the Marquis has a glorious ass, firm with muscle that yields beautifully under Alexander’s hands. He lavishes attention on the flat expanse of skin behind Lafayette’s balls, ignoring his flushed, eager hole, and Lafayette responds by cursing at him until Alexander bites his inner thigh, sucking a bruise into the hard muscle that no one will question even if they see it. They are both covered in bruises and scrapes from the recent battle, high on their own survival, and Alexander wants to devour this man whole. 

“Alexander! S'il vous plaît! It is not your teeth that I need!” Lafayette begs, and Alexander’s cock throbs where it slides against the bedsheets.

He leaves the tortured skin of Lafayette’s thigh and licks his way up toward his entrance, already slightly swollen from his earlier efforts. Lafayette's muscles twitch at the feeling of Alexander’s hot breathe against them. “And what do you need, _mon ami_? _Mes doigts_?” He circles the pad of his thumb against Lafayette's hole, teasing a low, throaty moan from him. Lafayette arches his back, offers himself up only to curse again when Alexander pulls his hand away. He takes pity on the man, moving his hand down to give Lafayette’s neglected cock a few firm strokes. 

“Do you need my cock? You have to tell me.” Face still buried in the pillow, Lafayette can’t seem to summon up the words. He’s flushed all down his back, reduced to uttering broken French nonsense on every exhale. Alexander lets go of Lafayette's cock and lets him collapse back against the sheets, reaching up to grip the firm muscles of his ass and spread them open again. “Well if you can’t tell me what you want, you’ll take what I give you.”

He gives Lafayette long, broad strokes of his tongue along the hot crease of him, only coming to concentrate on his hole once his needy sounds have reached a fevered pitch. Hungry for more, he presses the strong muscle of his tongue inward, working past what little resistance remains. Alexander spreads Lafayette wider, pushing his whole face closer, and holds on tight as the Marquis’ legendary resolve splinters and falls away under his tongue.

\-----

Angelica Schuyler is a hurricane: a hot, sudden gale blowing his expectations into so much rubble. 

Eliza is the sea. She is warm water lapping over him, a rising tide, and he wants to drown in her. 

“We can’t do this,” she breathes, hot against his lips, even as his hands slide up her legs, rucking up her gown and petticoat. She’s worn a simple dress tonight, so there are no panniers or hoops to contend with, just warm skin under his hands, slick with the sweat of the spirited dances they’d shared inside. They’re hidden away in the shadows behind a garden shed, still close enough to the party in the main house to hear the rise and fall of voices, the swell of the music. “Someone is going to--”

He kisses her, pressing closer so that she can feel the heat of him through the layers of fabric that separate them. She hesitates only a moment before pressing into his embrace, arms thrown around him to pull them flush together. The press of his cock against her hip makes her gasp. “You are most ardent in your affections, Mr. Hamilton.” 

The pressure of her small hand squeezing his cock through his breeches is so unexpected, so forward of her, that it renders him speechless. All he can manage are a series of wet kisses against the long line of her neck, the salt of her skin lingering on his lips even after he pulls away. After a deep breath he manages a shaky, “You need not worry for your virtue, Ms. Schuyler.”

She laughs, happy and on the edge of all control, and he _wants_ her. He wants to tear open his breeches and push up her skirts and take her right there, press into her very core and damn all possible consequences. His honor stays him, but only just.

Instead, he falls to his knees before her; sees her realize his intentions a second before she blushes almost crimson, but does not turn away. She meets his eyes and makes no move to stop him as he pushes the fabric of her gown and petticoats up further, even taking the bundled cloth in her own hands to hold it out of the way. It’s all but an open challenge, and Alexander moves to meet it without hesitation. 

She’s wet for him already, slick and hot where the delicate skin of her inner thighs gives way to the dark curls between them, and he wastes no time with teasing. They will have time enough for that and more in their marriage bed, and it won’t be long before someone notices they are missing from the party. He presses against her folds with a nimble tongue and the knuckles of one hand. He wants desperately to press his fingers inside of her, to feel the tight clench of her around them and imagine it around his cock, but he promised her virtue would not be lost and he intends to keep that promise. He presses his knuckles up against her folds instead, giving her firm pressure and the barest hint of penetration to grind down against, and she does so with abandon.

She comes with a gasp and a few sharp breaths above him, both of her hands pressed into the constricting fabric of her bodice. He pushes her through it, tongue sliding rhythmically against the swollen pulse of her clit as she soaks the edges of his cuff in a hot rush.

Eventually she is too sensitive to take it anymore and pushes him away, letting her clothes fall down to cover her again. But for the high flush on her cheeks and her bitten lips she still looks the picture of propriety. Alexander knows he looks nothing of the sort, long hair mussed and half loosened from its tie, the aching length of his cock tenting his breeches. Eliza offers him her own handkerchief and he uses it to wipe his face before tucking it away into his own pocket for safekeeping. “A most wicked favor, Ms. Schuyler.”

She reaches to pull him closer again, fingers making short work of the buttons at the front of his breeches. “Shall I do you another one? Or do you worry for your own virtue, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Alas I have little of that to offer you,” he says, sucking in a breath as her fingers curl around his cock. 

“Well then we best do away with what remains. What good is a virtuous suitor?” Her smile is not quite so wicked as her gift, but it’s close.

\-----

Years later, he will find himself between another set of thighs, buried in the heat and musk of another set of dark curls. Maria Reynolds doesn’t hesitate at all. She makes no coy remarks once his tongue is upon her. She presses both hands against the back of his head and neck, thighs boxing in his ears, and ruts against his lips and tongue. She comes with startling force and drags him up to kiss her the moment she’s done, rubbing her palms over the slickness coating his chin and cheeks. He can still smell her with every breath.

She fills up his senses and leaves no room to think about anything else.

The regret will come later.

\-----

The defining lesson of his life is this: Alexander’s mouth gets him what he wants. He can argue down a brick wall face to face. Where words on paper have rarely failed him, his power of speech never has. 

Until now.

Jefferson and Madison sit with their chairs pushed back from the table, obstinately _not_ signing the document in front of them. “Oh,” Jefferson smirks, “But there’s one more thing we want.”

Where Madison is perfunctory in his attentions, coming quickly and not touching Alexander at all, Jefferson is brutal. He pulls Alexander’s hair from its tie to get a better grip and pushes his way into his mouth. When Alexander takes hold of his shins to try to pull away, Jefferson kicks him in the side and laughs. “No no, boy. Hands to yourself.” Holding onto the legs of Jefferson’s chair gives him just enough leverage to put up a convincing fight, even as he presses the hot length of Jefferson’s cock against his palate and moans around it. 

“That’s it. I knew we could find a good use for that big mouth of yours.” Jefferson slides one hand down to cup Alexander’s wet chin and press his thumb in alongside his cock. “Maybe if I fuck it hard enough you won’t be able to talk for a few days. Wouldn’t you like some quiet around here, James?” 

From his chair to Alexander’s right, Madison gives an amused little chuckle and Alexander can see him fondling his soft cock. He doesn’t bother fighting the impulse to roll his eyes, and it earns him a hard yank at his hair. “So rude, Hamilton. If you were one of my boys I’d have you whipped.” Jefferson sets a punishing pace after that, his grip on Alexander’s hair relentless. He leans to the side, bracing himself against the chair arm so that he can fuck Alexander’s face, pausing only to catch his breath with his cock lodged in Alexander’s throat until it chokes him. Each time he loosens his grip just enough to let Alexander pull off and pant a few deep breaths while Jefferson smears his leaking cock over Alexander’s swollen lips. His entire face feels wet, eyes watering, chin shining with spit and come, and Alexander has never been this aroused in his entire life. He’s flushed and shaking with it, and Jefferson’s laughter, his incessant comments about taking so well after his whore mother, barely even register through the rush of blood in his ears. 

“I should come on your face,” Jefferson pants, “Whores always love that.” When he does finally come, however, he does so buried in Alexander’s throat, cock throbbing wildly against the hot slide of his tongue. It makes Alexander angrier than anything else from the last few hours spent in this room. He’d been looking forward to spitting Jefferson’s come out onto his ridiculous, shiny shoes.

As soon as Jefferson’s grip loosens enough to let Alexander wrench himself free, he’s on his feet and reaching for the discarded quill and ink. Jefferson’s sudden grip on his wrist stops him, and he grits his teeth as Jefferson says, “Where are you going, boy? None one said we were finished here.”

By the time they let him leave his throat is raw and his knees ache and he’s so painfully hard that he only manages to walk straight through sheer force of will, but he also has their agreement, signed and sealed.

His mouth _always_ gets him what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit this was filthy. I don’t know where it came from. I feel unclean. I like it.
> 
> To Lin-Manuel if you read this: Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Title mangled out of a quote attributed to Hamilton:  
> "Men are rather reasoning than reasonable animals, for the most part governed by the impulse of passion."
> 
> **Translations:**
> 
> “Oui, oui….votre bouche est la chose la plus exquise….”: Yes, yes...your mouth is...the most exquisite thing…”
> 
> “S'il vous plaît!”: Please!
> 
> “Mes doigts?: My fingers?


End file.
